


I Too Thought When Proved Wrong I Lost Somehow

by xpityx



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-08-19
Packaged: 2017-12-03 13:06:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xpityx/pseuds/xpityx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles, Damon, 'Near Dark', alcohol and sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. As We Were Talking Outside it Was Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by Animexbitchx in record time (any mistakes are because I ignored her awesome colour-coded corrections and are therefore my own). Title from Alanis Morissette - 'I Was Hoping'
> 
> Please see end notes if you want clarification of the 'mildly dubious consent' tag.

  
  
Stiles wasn't entirely clear how he and Damon had progressed from sort-of enemies ('sort-of' because how can a kick-ass vampire in a leather jacket have a seventeen year old school kid as an enemy? Seriously?) to sort-of friendship, but he was cool with the standing Friday night movies and popcorn (or blood, in Damon's case) thing they had going. Damon had a rather specific grasp of modern culture (he had seen every Fast and Furious and he could quote Spike from here until Ragnarök), but he was lacking in what Stiles considered the classics and so he'd taken it upon himself to enlighten and teach.  
  
“'Near Dark'?” Damon said from behind him, as he lounged on the sofa and Stiles fiddled with the DVD player. “If this is another vampire movie can it at least not have that annoying little shit Kiefer Sutherland in it?”  
  
They were in Damon's spacious studio flat, which somehow managed to look elegant and sophisticated despite the lack of rooms. Maybe it was the stripped wooden flooring and the massive double bed. Stiles' tiny single and posters paled into teenage-themed insignificance in the face of that bed.  
  
“This is a classic, OK? This is like, the fountain from which all other modern vampire movies poured forth. Like a blood fountain, or something. And also,” He holds up a finger for emphasis, “Kiefer Sutherland is Jack Bauer, a Federal Agent who saves all of us from stereotypical terrorists on a semi-regular basis, so show some appreciation.”  
  
“He threatened to rip someone's stomach lining out using a towel; he's an annoying little shit.”  
  
He shakes his head, even though he knows Damon probably isn't even looking at him right now and sighs, “You have no respect.”  
  
“No, I just know an utterly ridiculous torture method when I see one.”  
  
And there was probably nothing intelligent that could be said to that, except possibly, ' _How_ do you know?' and, suicidally curious he has been known to be, he's not going to ask that question. Maybe this is what growing up feels like? He makes do with turning the DVD on and hopping on the end of the sofa Damon isn't currently occupying instead.  
  
“Popcorn, popcorn, popcorn, popcorn” Stiles chants until Damon throws him the Chesters and, inexplicably, hands him a heavy glass a quarter full of whatever amber liquid Damon has been drinking like it was going out of fashion.  
  
“Er, you do know I'm seventeen, right? And therefore this is totally, totally illegal?”  
  
Oh look, it's the lesser-known 'Eyebrows of Not Caring', with a side of 'I'm a Badass'. Is that something they teach now: Supernatural 101, Eyebrow Expressiveness in Ten Easy Steps?  
  
“Just don't tell Derek.”  
  
Stiles snickers, not so badass after all then.  
  
“How _is_ his moodiness?”  
  
“I don't think you're in any position to throw stones, Lord of the Leather'”  
  
Damon raises the Sarcastic Eyebrow at him, “ _Lord of the Leather?_ ”  
  
“Do you know that I can actually hear the italics when you speak like that?”  
  
Damon snorts and turns back to the movie, where they're discussing starlight to the sound of an eighties synth. Maybe this wasn't the best choice.  
  
Stiles munches on some popcorn whilst he debates his drink. _Whisky? It looks like whisky_. He's seen his father down a glass like this in a single gulp, and it smells like something Lydia would use to remove her nail polish, so he goes for the same gesture: smooth, sophisticated, adult. Or not.  
  
He instantly starts to cough, rough and painful, like he's accidentally breathed it in instead of swallowing. _My, that's foul._ He's vaguely aware of Damon watching him from the other side of the sofa, some combination of eyebrow and expression he can't parse at the moment due to the streaming tears and agonising pain.  
  
“Dude! Aren't you supposed to pat someone on the back when they're choking or something? Didn't they have first-aid in the 1800s or whatever calendar you fell off?”  
  
Damon leans across the sofa, slow and graceful, before giving him a single thump on the back so powerful he nearly falls off the sofa. “Better?” The fucker is smirking at him.  
  
“Gee, yeah. Awesome. Thanks for caring.”  
  
“Want another?”  
  
This is not how movie night usually goes, and although Stiles isn't sure what's going on here, and it definitely does feel like a something rather than a nothing, but he guesses he's not going to find out by refusing so he proffers the glass in Damon's direction and raises, what he hopes, is a challenging eyebrow.  
  
Damon looks even more amused and pours him another quarter of a glass.  
  
He goes back to the movie and tries to remember if there's an awful Eighties sex scene in this film. For some reason, he's discovered that watching a sex scene with Damon is excruciatingly cringe-worthy. He's not sure why: he saw The Watchman at the cinema with his Dad when it came out and joked his way through the slo-mo sex in that, but something about Damon, with his rock hard abs and tendency to flirt without even trying makes it something to be endured rather than to laugh about. He's undecided if Damon's on to him or not, but last time Stiles had allowed him to pick the movie they'd ended up watching Antichrist, which incidentally is the most terrible film he's ever seen, made worse by the vast amounts of sex and the odd spot of genital mutilation. He'd spent the evening alternating between feeling nauseous and attempting not to spontaneously combust. After that Stiles had unanimously decided that Damon was in charge of the snacks and he was in charge of the movie.  
  
“Pause the film dude, I've got to, you know.” He gestures, just in case it's not clear that however many shots of whisky Damon has fed him is now making itself known.  
  
Damon gives him Overshare Eyebrow #5 and pauses the movie.  
  
“Hurry up, I'm enjoying the movie.” Oh yeah, that's sarcasm all right.  
  
As he's making his not-quite steady way back from the bathroom he manages to stumble and catch his hip on the trunk at the end of the wooden monstrosity that is Damon's bed.  
  
“Ow, fuck!”  
  
Damon's suddenly right up in his personal space and backing him towards the bed. It's easy to forget how fast he is, to forget _what_ he is until he does something impossible, like move across a room in a matter of microseconds. Then his hands are on the edge of his jeans, going for the top button. _Back up a second: what?!_  
  
“What?!” Well, that was a little more high-pitched and a little less expressive than he would've liked, but it seemed to get the message across because Damon lifts his hands in the universal sign for 'I'm harmless' and says, “Stop being a pussy and let me look. I can smell blood,” and unbuttons Stiles' jeans at his uncertain nod.  
  
There's a small red line where the edge of the trunk has broken skin, and Stiles has time to think _that's going to bruise_ before Damon has pushed him to lie back on the bed so he can bend and lick a stripe over the abused skin at his hip. _Oh yeah; blood_.  
  
Stiles sucks in a surprised breath, more than a little turned on and very, very confused. Weren't they just watching an Eighties vampire flick? Did they decide to re-enact some of the plot and no one clued him in? God, he hopes he's not about to be eaten: Derek would be pissed.  
  
Damon looks up then, watching him, seemingly cataloguing his responses as he firmly moves his hand across the bared skin at his waist towards where his dick is twitching in interest. Should he say something? Like what? _'What the fuck?_ ' is currently top of his list, but his body is clearly way ahead of his mouth and just wants that hand to hurry up and move three inches to the left already. He feels like he lost the plot of this particular adventure the second Damon touched the top button of his jeans. He doesn't know what to do with the look Damon is giving him, almost alien in its intensity, no human could ever focus like that, so he throws his arm over his eyes and tries not to die of embarrassment as Damon finally touches his dick and pulls a moan out of him.  
  
Then he's unzipping Stiles' jeans, and he has a second to register cool air before _fuck fuck fuck that's a mouth_. There's a mouth on his cock and if he had've known this was going to happen he would've put a call in to the Guinness Book of Records so they could be aware that the quickest blowjob in the history of mankind is about to take place.  
  
He tries not to buck, and suddenly there's inhumanly strong hands holding his hips in place and that shouldn't be hot but it so is. Damon takes him all the way in until his nose is buried in Stiles' pubic hair and god, he can't take much more of this.  
  
“I'm.” He tries, “Damon, I'm...”  
  
Damon pulls off, takes his dick in a strong grip, and leans over to kiss Stiles as his hand moves in a steady rhythm, harder than he would use on himself but just perfect right now. He can feel Damon almost gasping against his mouth and he realises that he did that - _Jesus, I made him breathe_ \- and then he's coming as Damon mouths his neck and pants into his ear.  
  
When he recovers enough to work his vocal cords, he asks “Wha?” but that's all he manages to get out before Damon's on him again, licking into his mouth, hands at the base of his skull, before disentangling himself from Stiles and moving off the bed.  
  
“Strip.” Damon orders, and then he's taking off his own clothes with quick, spare gestures, moving to open and slam draws, obviously looking for something.  
  
“What?” If he'd known there would come a moment in his life where he'd be reduced to one word, he would've picked something more intelligent.  
  
“Take. Off. Your. Clothes” Oh god, and he wants to giggle, because the order is accompanied by Damon's Do As I Say Eyebrows, and _what the fuck he's having sex with Damon._  
  
_Fuck it._ He strips, trying to be quick but never taking his eyes of Damon, _naked Damon_ , jeez, he sounds hysterical in his head, who has found what he's looking for and is unscrewing the lid off the lube - _lube!_ \- before slicking himself up.  
  
He fixes Stiles with a look that makes him swallow heavily before gesturing with his head, “Turn over” and Stiles scrambles to comply.  
  
The mattress dips with his weight as Damon gets on the bed and manhandles him into position: pushing him up so he's kneeling almost upright with his legs spread as far as they will go, close enough to the headboard that he can grip it as Damon kneels behind him: one hand covering his, keeping his hands in place above his head, the other working its way up from his balls, slick with lube and cool with vampire skin.  
  
“Damon, I've never.” He swallows as a finger eases into him, and tries again. He feels this is something Damon should know, that it's important somehow, “I've never...”  
  
“Shhh.” Damon says into his shoulder, thankfully blunt teeth marking him at the juncture of his shoulder and neck, making him shudder “You're fine.”  
  
He bucks backward onto the finger that's slowly fucking him, and loses his train of thought for a while as one finger becomes two, until he can feel the sweat pooling at the small of his back. He's fully hard again now, pleasure sparking along his spine at every stroke. He knows he's letting out more _jesuses_ and _fucks_ than is strictly considered cool in the bedroom, so he's grateful when Damon leans up and turns his head to initiate a messy, sideways kiss.  
  
The feeling when Damon pulls his fingers out is almost shocking, and he freezes for a second, aware only of the greedy need of his body, wanting _more_ and _now_. Then there's something larger and more insistent pushing up at him, and he thinks suddenly that he hasn't even _touched_ Damon's dick, but in a second it's going to be inside him and he can barely wrap his head round the idea before he feels a push and _fuck jesus fuck_ that's big. Damon strokes his wilting dick into hardness again as he pushes in all the way in one, smooth motion. Stiles is stuck, his mind playing a loop of babbling incoherence as his body tries to decide if it wants Damon to move or to stay very, very still. Damon makes the decision for him by slowly pulling out and, just as slowly, pushing all the way in again. Stiles makes a needy sound then in the back of his throat, and apparently that's all the permission Damon required to start up a solid rhythm, forcing Stiles to brace himself against the headboard. Damon's taking big, gasping breaths of air he doesn't need, and Stiles starts pushing backwards, meeting him thrust for thrust as he feels the wood of the headboard biting into his hands.  
  
The vampire stops for a second so he can lean over to kiss Stiles, and Stiles realises that the keening sound he can hear _is himself_. Then Damon has an arm wrapped around his stomach like a steel bar, pulling him upright so he's sat on Damon's thighs, his dick even deeper in him and his own leaking pre-come all over his belly. When he goes to palm his dick though, Damon takes his hands in his own and places them on his thighs, leaving them there to wrap an arm back round his stomach, and place the other one on his throat, angling his head backwards till he's leaning on Damon's shoulder.  
  
“Not until I say so,” Damon says into his ear in a voice that seems to have lowered a couple of octaves in the interim.  
  
He's vaguely aware that he's babbling as Damon starts to thrust into him again, using the arm braced around his stomach to keep him upright. He doesn't really have it in him to be embarrassed about that right now, he just hopes that there's a _please_ in there somewhere because that's what he most wants to get across to Damon right now.  
  
_Please._  
  
Damon fists his dick and is saying something into his ear and he can feel Damon swelling inside of him, and he's coming, coming, vision darkening at the edges with the force of his orgasm.  
  
A pause, maybe of a few minutes or hours, he's not sure, and he's aware of a warm, damp cloth moving over him, cleaning up the worst of the mess. Another pause, shorter this time, then there's the solid presence of Damon at his back, cool against his sweaty skin as he's pulled into the vampire's embrace. He has time for one final thought of _what the fuck?!_ before sleep takes him.  


 

*~*~*~*~*

  
He wakes slowly, as he normally does when there's no kind of apocalyptic-type disaster going on. Then last night's activities make themselves known, and he's suddenly very, very awake. In fact, he doesn't think he's ever been this hyper-aware in his life. _Oh fuck he had sex with Damon last night. This is Damon's apartment. He's in Damon's bed._ Other, equally high-pitched thoughts jitter across his mind and he could _really_ do with his medication right about now.  
  
Slowly, with a sense of dread he turns over. Yup, that there is a naked Damon.  
  
Asleep, thankfully, because he has absolutely no idea what he's supposed to say to him. Oh he has plenty of faith in his ability to speak, but whatever garbled nonsense that would come out of his mouth would most definitely be the wrong thing, because that's just what he does. He says the wrong thing and he fucks up. He has no idea what to do with this, whatever _this_ is. He'd just got used to the idea that Damon was OK with him coming over every Friday to sprawl on his sofa and make him watch movies he would ordinarily avoid like the plague. What the fuck is he supposed to do with this? Damon flirts with everyone, it was just the way he communicates with the world, and it's never occurred to him that it might be something more than that. Perhaps he's over-thinking things? God knows it's something he's prone to. Maybe it wasn't anything: just a convenient distraction from the increasingly shitty vampire movies that Stiles was making him sit through.  
  
Fuck this, he's going to go and sort out his rapidly spiralling thoughts before Damon wakes up and he makes a mess of things, or before he asks for something that hasn't even been offered to him.  
  
As he rolls out of bed dust motes are floating in what is either pre-dawn or post-sunset light. He so hopes it's pre-dawn, at least then he'll have some hope of getting home before his Dad gets in from his night shift, and therefore not be grounded for the rest of his natural life.  
  
Disregarding his morning wood, he dresses as quickly as he can, resolutely ignoring the headache he can feel building behind his eyes. Meds, shower, breakfast, and hopefully some semblance of sanity will follow. He snorts quietly to himself. Fat chance of that.  
  
He slips out of the now light-filled apartment, and closes the door softly behind him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damon gets Stiles tipsy before he takes his jeans off, so possibly mildly dubious consent. Please don't read if you think this might upset you.


	2. Warmed By The Subject Matter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by Animexbitchx, who rocks.

 

Apparently his morning wood wasn’t satisfied with being ignored earlier and has made a half-hearted reappearance in the shower. He debates with himself for a second before giving in and stroking himself to full hardness. He would've thought he'd go for one of the more explicit parts of last night to focus on, but in the end the thing that tips him over the edge is thinking about Damon saying, 'shhh, you're fine' into his ear.

 

He wipes down the shower when he's done. He knows that the streaks are a pain to get off.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

He can hear the question in his Dad’s voice as he comes in the front door to find Stiles dressed and cooking before midday, “You’re up early.”

 

“Well, you know what they say, 'the early bird catches...'” _AIDS, Chlamydia, Hepatitis B. Oh gods, they hadn't used a condom! What if he had vampire AIDs? What if he got pregnant with Damon's ass baby?! Well, that last one was unlikely, but what did he know?_ He realised his Dad was looking at himwith a bemused expression, “Er, bacon?”

 

“It's 'the worm', son”

 

“What is?”

 

“What the early bird catches. Not bacon.”

 

Fuck this, he's going to see Derek. Maybe he can somehow shoehorn Supernatural STIs into the conversation.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

“Did you have sex with Damon?”

 

He didn't even get a 'hello’ when Derek answered the door. He just got smelt and an interrogation. A) What was the purpose of soaping twice if this was going to happen anyway and, B) How was this his life?

 

“What?! No! Why would you say that, you crazy, crazy werewolf person?”

 

“You smell of Damon. And you smell of sex. It wasn't exactly a leap.”

 

“There was no Damon-sex! I watched a movie with Damon, then I went home and had man-needs. Which I then dealt with. The man-needs that is. They were completely separate events and in no way connected.”

 

Derek elects to rejoin that with a low, menacing growl, which thoroughly blows a hole in his denials.

 

“OK! OK! I had sex with Damon! We did the nasty! We got it on! But it was totally consensual and you in no way need to go over there and bite him, OK?”

 

Dereks lips quirk up slightly on one side, which is his impression of a shit-eating grin. “Boyd’s going to be pleased.”

 

_What?! Why?_

 

“What?! Why?”

 

“He and Scott had a bet.”

 

Stiles closes his eyes. He knows it’s a dramatic gesture, but it makes him feel better. “Boyd and Scott had a bet involving me, Damon, and sex?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“So, just to clarify, Boyd and Scott thought that Damon and I would have sex. Or did Boyd think we would have sex, and Scott thought we wouldn’t?” He’s a little annoyed about that, even though he knows it makes so sense - Scott’s his best friend and therefore should believe in his seduction skills. Even when he has none.

 

“No, everyone thought you would have sex. The bet was regarding the timescale involved.”

 

“ _Everyone?!_ Why did everyone think we would have sex?!”

 

“He always lets you pick the film.” Stiles pauses to ponder that: in some weird way, it almost makes sense.

 

“... and he flirts with you all the time.” Derek adds as an afterthought.

 

“How was I supposed to know! Damon flirts with everybody! I've seen him flirt with my Dad that one time he met him!”

 

Derek raises The Eyebrow (it needs no other title) at him, “How do you feel about Damon?”

 

“Well, you know: he's sarcastic and sexy and has abs you could bounce dimes off, and he doesn't look at me like I've kicked him in the puppy when I put my foot in my mouth and say something horrific, which is basically all the time, and he doesn't judge me for my occasionally ambiguous grasp of right and wrong and oh God I snuck out this morning without saying anything to him.”

 

He stops and looks in horror at Derek, who he expects to fix this massive Stiles-fail, because that's his job. He is Alpha: Fixer of Things.

 

He doesn't get a fix, but he does get a hug, which is almost as good.

 

The awesome thing about Derek hugs, rare though they are, was that no-one seemed to have told him that Bro-hugs were three second events that involve a manly backslap at the end. So what you got was an actual hug, timed to whatever you needed, be that a two second squeeze, or a minute of comfort finished off by a rough kiss to the side of your head. Derek just seemed to know what was required and had missed the memo about society-approved heterosexual boundaries, which Stiles thought were shit anyway and only applied to poor suckers who weren't part of a werewolf pack.

 

“Go talk to him.”

 

“What if it was just a thing, like friends with benefits but only once: singular. Friends with _a_ benefit?”

 

“Then I'll bite him.”

 

“You say the sweetest things.”

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

Damon answers his knock in nothing but a pair of sweats and with a bottle of something alcoholic in one hand.

 

"It's three o'clock in the afternoon!"

 

"Did you come here to make moral judgments about my drinking habits or are you here to discuss how you snuck out this morning after I was _gracious_ enough to put my penis in you?"

 

"Gracious?! What? Here I was thinking I was the one providing you with a distraction from whatever it is that has you wearing black and sulking with a bottle of scotch half way through the afternoon!"

 

Well, this has descended into shouting more quickly than he had expected it to. He moves further into Damon's flat to give himself more room to gesture and to provide less entertainment to the neighbours.

 

"I'm sorry, what part of me sucking your cock did you perceive as _you_ doing _me_ a favour?"

 

"How the fuck am I supposed to know what is going on in your head?”

 

"Well, I'm well aware of what's going on in yours due to your tendency to tell me in excruciating, mind numbing detail every little thought that flutters through your brain!"

 

He stares at Damon for a span of seconds, both of them breathing hard, aware that he is opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. Damon rolls his eyes and reaches forward to grab him by his belt straps and pull him into a kiss. He wants to revert to form and ask 'what the fuck?' again, but actually maybe he doesn't need to know exactly what is going on right now: maybe it doesn't matter.

 

He kisses Damon back.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. In my defense: I moved to another country :P


End file.
